


Synchronicities

by Maplemind



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mention of blood, Not a lot of blood, Oneshot, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, steve is clumsy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:01:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23144341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maplemind/pseuds/Maplemind
Summary: Steve thinks he sees someone he knows at the market. Cue trying to hide from Bucky and a philosophical conversation of sorts.Short little oneshot with a bit of mild hurt-comfort and domestic fluff. Set in the beautiful world where Civil War didn't technically happen but the Wakandans still looked after Bucky. UN-BETA'D!
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers
Kudos: 8





	Synchronicities

The barely audible sound of the front door closing was the first indicator that something was wrong. Steve had never been heavy handed - he couldn’t be when he was so frail and even when his stature changed he couldn’t shake a lifetime of habit. But this was quieter than normal, even for Steve. The second indicator was the silently retreating footsteps, skirting around the entry to the lounge and trying to get down the hallway without being noticed. Any normal person wouldn’t have noticed, but the knock-off super soldier serum forced into Bucky’s veins gave him incredibly enhanced hearing. It wasn’t as good as Steve’s, granted, and Bucky was still deciding if it was a blessing or a curse, but it was what it was. His friend may have had super-light steps, but even he couldn’t prevent the rough sound of the material of his jeans brushing together as his legs passed one another. 

Bucky sighed softly, closing his book. The “distressed Steve” alarm was ringing in his head. It had been so finely tuned before the war that even Hydra hadn’t managed to completely erase it. In the few years since he had been freed from their grasp, the alarm had developed right back to how it used to be. He took a moment to re-adjust his thoughts, putting aside the vast expanse of space he had just been reading about - human knowledge of the universe had advanced so much since his youth, it fascinated him no end - and lining up his “Steve care package”. They had both changed so much physically, mentally, emotionally in 70 years and yet they were the same two people they had always been. Setting his book down carefully on the glass coffee table (he still insisted it was stupid idea with two hyper-strong super soldiers in the apartment, especially when one had a metal arm) and smoothly rose to his feet. He lavished in a full body stretch, rising up onto his toes as the lethargy drained from his muscles. He had been dubious of the enormous plush sofa and chairs at first, their colour (grey) too light for his tastes, their arms (over a foot tall and half a foot wide) too chunky and the the positioning (sidewards to the floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows) too exposed for his liking. But over time he had been forced to admit that they were so comfortable and welcoming he found himself struggling not to fall asleep in their encompassing embrace. With a last glance across the dazzling New York skyline, the lights glittering like stars, the former assassin went on the hunt for his friend.

***************

Even straining his ears, Bucky couldn’t hear any sign of Steve as he made his way along the hallway to their rooms. He saw the light spilling from under Steve’s door, and made sure to step slightly heavier than usual in order to give the man fair warning of his approach. Reaching the half-closed door, he paused. 

“Steve?” voice soft, but firm enough to warrant an answer, Bucky waited. 

When nothing happened, he slowly pushed the door open with the tips of his flesh fingers. The only light came from the bedside lamp, its warm glow illuminating the hunched side profile of the room’s sole occupant; his hair an incredible golden blond in the artificial light. The bed faced the door and Steve was sat on the side edge of it, elbows braced on knees and head hung low. It still made Bucky’s soul sing to see how healthy his friend had become; gone were the days of the frail figure, bones poking through pale skin as he hunched over fighting to breathe with convulsing lungs. He still remembered the feeling of Steve’s feeble heart fluttering under his hand where it rested uselessly on the protruding spine. In the here and now, though, something was clearly wrong. Steve never hunched now, too well supported by his exemplary muscular-skeletal system. That is, unless he chose to hunch. The former Winter Soldier frowned deeply. 

“Steve?” he ventured again, slightly louder this time. 

The blond head snapped up, swivelling to seek the source of the voice. The downturned mouth quickly changed to a pleasant smile that didn’t reach Steve’s eyes. Bucky could see the forced levity and Steve knew it. 

“Hey Buck! Sorry, you seemed so engrossed in your book I didn’t want to disturb you.” he shifted slightly from his position on the side of the bed, blue cotton bedcovers scrunching up beneath him as he turned to face the dark-haired man with one leg tucking up underneath him. 

Bucky didn’t indulge the man. “What’s up Steve?”

Steve tried to retain his innocent expression. “What do you mean?”

Bucky shook his head as he dropped his chin to his chest, his dark hair falling into his eyes. He swept it back with his metal hand as he raised his head again, huffing impatiently as his cybernetic fingers caught in the tangles. He had to get it cut. “Come on Steve, I’ve known you for a century. You know I can tell when you’re lying.” 

Hand finally free from his dark mop of hair, he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorframe. Locking eyes with his friend, he watched the cycle of emotions run through them. Fake happiness, steely determination, annoyance, resignation. The Captain breathed out heavily through his nose.

“I… Thanks Buck, but I’m fine.” At the pointed look sent his way, Steve clarified “I’m fine, Buck. I just need to process a few things, but if I need anything you’ll be the first to know.”

Bucky’s dark eyebrows were raised so high they’d disappeared into his hair. For a moment neither man gave way, then finally Bucky slanted his eyes sideways and shook his head. He breathed out a long lungful of air.

“Alright. But I swear to God, Steve, you’d better not do your whole ‘martyr’ thing. I don’t care what time it is or what I’m doing, you come to me if you need me. Agreed?”

Steve let out a little huff of a laugh. “Yeah, Buck.”

Bucky pushed himself off the doorframe, taking a step into the room. His face was devoid of humour. “Promise me, Steve.”

A look of genuine appreciation settled on Steve’s face. “I promise.”

Seemingly appeased for the time being, Bucky shot his friend one last pointed look before turning and heading back along the hallway, calling over his shoulder “You’d better!”.

********************************

Bucky couldn’t say he was sleeping well, exactly, but he was certainly better off now than he had been a few years ago. Nightmares still haunted him most nights, but the real night-terrors that caused him to thrash awake screaming and / or vomit from shock had thankfully reduced to around 1 a month. He’d also noticed that since he and Steve had been able to move into an apartment together, he’d often start or end the night with a normal dream. He supposed it was due to their spending more time together, making bright new memories to dilute the dark ones. 

That night, however, had been filled with an endless cycle of negative dreaming. Mostly they revolved around Steve having a terrible secret - obviously caused by the events of the evening. After jolting awake at 5.30am he decided to give up on sleep and start the day, curling up on their enormous sofa with his universe-book once more. The last dream had consisted of Steve gradually getting sicker and weaker, only to reveal that the secret he’d kept was a terminal diagnosis. In his waking brain, Bucky knew that it could never happen; their cells regenerated at an incredible rate, so there was no real way they could get any of the awful degenerative conditions that plagued the human race. In his sleeping brain, though? Yeah his sleeping brain was an asshole. 

So attuned to Steve from the days where a common cold could have killed him, the sharp intake of breath from the kitchen an hour later had Bucky’s attention instantly. Coffee mug halfway to his mouth, book held open with his metal hand (it never got cramp from holding the substantial hardback in the same position), he froze.  
“Steve? You ok?” his sharp hearing picked up a soft clatter of metal. “Yeah, no, I’m fine, it’s-” Steve cut himself off with a soft curse. That was the indicator Bucky needed. Steve wasn’t exactly a saint, but he didn’t curse unless it was warranted. 

Flipping the book to rest open face down on the table top and setting his mug on the nearest coaster, Bucky was out of his seat and standing ridiculously close before Steve could hide the cause of his profanity. 

Somehow the 70-years of change they’d survived hadn’t changed the way they reacted to each other. As Bucky grabs a handful of kitchen tissue to wrap around Steve’s sliced finger, the man is already twisting away with a huff as he sets the offending can of fruit on the kitchen counter. 

“It’s nothing, Buck, don’t fuss. It’ll be gone in an hour.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes and shoves the wad of tissue into Steve’s hand anyway. The man may be four times the size he used to be (and 100% healthier), but he’s the same old Steve - snappy and petulant when something’s bothering him. Luckily, Bucky also knows how to handle him. He perches on the edge of their kitchen table to wait.

His internal clock reaches 2 minutes and 17 seconds before Steve lets out a long breath as his chin drops to his chest. He’s been applying pressure to his finger with the tissue, and the bleeding has slowed considerably. Bucky can’t help his little smirk at how predictable the man is. 

“Buck… Do you believe in ghosts?”

Whatever Bucky was expecting to come out of his friend’s mouth, it wasn’t that. And unfortunately he’s never been good at hiding his emotions from his closest friend. It enough to put Steve back a step.

“Don’t worry, I’m just tired. Or… going mad or something.” Steve trailed off into mumbles as he started to clear up the mess he’d made of the work surface.

“No go on. What do you mean?”

Steve stays hunched over the counter a moment longer, before turning slowly and tossing the blood-and-juice-soaked tissue in the waste bin. Leaning his lower back against the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest almost defensively as another long sigh escapes him.

“Just... Ghosts, the afterlife, souls? I don’t know.”

Bucky’s head tilts gently to the side as he considers the question. Wow, what a loaded question for him to answer…

“I… Well I guess I used to, you know, before. And I guess I kinda do now. Actually I think maybe I believe in that stuff more now, since everything happened. Why?”

There’s a long beat, in which the blond looks up from under his eyelashes almost sheepishly.

“Uh so I thought I saw… I thought I saw Dugan. In the market. And I was already calling to him before it hit me. I mean, if he was still alive he wouldn’t look the same as he did last time we saw him all those years ago.”

Bucky watched the soft sadness drift through his friend’s pale blue eyes as he considered his response. Just how much of himself was he able to give away right now? Or more to the point, how much could Steve bear to hear?

“Steve… Do you know how often I saw you, when Hydra had me?” He paused a moment, not expecting a reaction but checking just in case. Steve’s shoulders straightened as he unconsciously drew himself up to attention - his go to “open” body language. He didn’t speak, but shook his head shortly in answer. Bucky took a steadying breath.

“At first it was the drugs, and the… the pain, and the mind games. But later, when I was in hiding… I saw you everywhere. At first I thought you’d caught up with me, then I’d see on the news that you were somewhere else.” 

Steve was frowning now, and where once that would have scared Bucky off, now he knew that it merely meant his friend was listening - and thinking - hard. He unfolded his arms and rested his hands on the countertop besides his hips - almost as if he were going to pull himself up to sit on it.

“I know it sounds stupid, and maybe my brain really is damaged beyond repair, but honestly I think we’ve always been connected somehow. I think even when I was so far under, some part of me remembered you. Even when you turned up looking like a science experiment gone wrong...”

The feeble attempt at humour seemed to work, as Steve snorted softly and shook his head. Bucky was pleased to see that trade-mark tiny smirk in place too. 

“Yeah well, it got me a career that means I could genuinely buy a private island and still have enough money to live ridiculously for the rest of my existence, so…”

Bucky couldn’t help but snort at the defiant look on Steve’s face, even as he made a sheepish admission himself.

“Tell me about it. When they finally released my bank accounts and I saw the amount of interest I’d gathered I had to take a long run. And I mean a long run.”

Their giggles gradually tapered off into silence. Eventually, Steve’s soft voice broke the comfortable quiet. 

“It just -”

“-Shook you up?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s hardly surprising, pal. But they’re always going to be in our heads- they were our family. And if you think about it, at least that way they’ll never be forgotten.”

Silence fell for just a few moments more, before Steve was once more the one to break it.

“God that’s really lightened the mood in here.” 

Bucky barked a laugh as he pushed himself away from the edge of the table. 

“Yeah yeah. Well I gotta tell you I don’t really feel like eating anything made with your blood in it, so why don’t we make the staff at that little place on 5th really happy?”

And if, a few days later, Steve noticed an addition to their photo wall that hadn’t been there the night before… Well he was definitely not going to ask Bucky where the hell it came from. He didn’t want to know.


End file.
